


No Other Way But You

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Established Relationship, KNBxNBA, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-10 18:03:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10443822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: He’s leaning back against the counter when Midorima turns around, probably smudging the granite, just waiting for Midorima to cross the space between them, but Midorima supposes as this is his house he ought to be the one making the moves.(KNBxNBA)





	

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for not posting much lately orz

It rains the weekend the Cavs come to town. Midorima’s not too fond of rain normally, but this time of year it means it’s not cold enough to snow (and there’s the added bonus of the raindrops pockmarking the dirty drifts until they shrink back and melt into the already-oversaturated ground). It makes him impatient, though; it’s not freezing but it’s still cold enough to be unpleasant outside and Aomine’s still not here after texting that he was on his way nearly an hour ago. It’s not because he’s waiting for Aomine to come; it’s just—everything, really. It’s the shitty weather, better but still not tolerable, moving too slowly toward spring; it’s what remains of the schedule before the playoffs when the Celtics’ spot is firmly secured and they’re all in tune with each other (every game is a potential injury, a potential upset to their balance as a team—they’re strong, yes, but not invincible; and part of Midorima just wants to wait and put off the last few games until after the playoffs even though he knows the seasons are eighty-two for a reason); it’s the mounting exhaustion from having played so many of those regular season games already. And, okay, it’s maybe a little bit (or a lot) that on top of all that when Aomine’s finally in town he still hasn’t shown up and Midorima’s had a long enough time to expect him and prepare for him and what little they have together seems like the last time out left in the second half, never long enough to get in what they want.

The buzzer sounds. It had better not be the UPS guy or someone trying the wrong apartment. Midorima walks over and presses the microphone button.

“Yes?”

“Hey, let me up.”

It’s definitely Aomine. Midorima presses the button.

He’s up in about a minute, his hair drenched and plastered against his head and he tries to give Midorima a hug with his raincoat still on.

“Take that thing off first,” says Midorima.

"Damn, I'm not even in the door and you're asking me to strip for you?" Aomine says.

Midorima gives him his most contemptuous look. Aomine puts his coat on the coat rack and hands Midorima a paper bag.

“I got this for you.”

Inside is a fancy-looking chocolate stout from some brand Midorima’s never heard of, the price tag badly scraped off. It’s absolutely not in Midorima’s diet plan, but he finds himself smiling at it anyway (he and Aomine can split the extra calories).

“That’s not everything,” says Aomine, finally rid of his coat and shoes.

Midorima upends the bag into his hand; a shot glass and a receipt fall out. The shot glass is one of those cheesy red ones with the Harvard shield printed on one side; the other simply reads “in vino”. It’s an awful pun, if it can even be called that.

“You don’t drink wine from a shot glass,” says Midorima.

“Yeah, well,” says Aomine. “It’s your lucky item, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” says Midorima (he doesn’t need to tell Aomine he already has one out on the coffee table and he’d slipped another in his gym bag; he places this one on the foyer table for later). “Thank you.”

Aomine trails him into the kitchen and watches him put the beer in the fridge. He’s leaning back against the counter when Midorima turns around, probably smudging the granite, just waiting for Midorima to cross the space between them, but Midorima supposes as this is his house he ought to be the one making the moves. When Aomine’s leaning back like this, the height difference is more apparent, and Midorima leverages it to his full advantage, leaning into Aomine’s space and touching their foreheads together before kissing him. He brushes his tongue over Aomine’s teeth; Aomine sighs into the kiss and skims one hand up Midorima’s torso; Midorima shivers at the touch through his shirt. Aomine’s fingers are still cold, but Aomine opens his hand and presses it against Midorima’s chest, and he pushes lightly when he wants to break the kiss.

“You missed me, huh, Babe?”

“Yes,” says Midorima.

Aomine’s apparently not expecting him to give in that easily; his face freezes like his next words are caught on his tongue; it’s a little bit cute, actually, and Midorima files that away in his mind for later (if he can figure out how to get it again).

“But you missed me, too?” says Midorima.

“Yeah,” says Aomine (the tops of his ears have a bit of a reddish undertone to them). “Obviously.”

He cops a feel of Midorima’s ass on the way out of the kitchen (Midorima lets him this time; he’s feeling a little generous right now). Aomine makes a pleased little sound when he finds no resistance, and ends up dropping his arm around Midorima’s shoulders.

“This season, though,” he says. “It’s fucking brutal.”

“It is,” Midorima allows. “It’s almost over.”

“I know,” says Aomine. “And then we’ll have the conference finals and we’ll beat you guys and win the title.”

Midorima snorts. “You’re getting a bit ahead of yourself.”

“What?” says Aomine. “We’ll beat those guys. You’ll beat your half. We’ll be the 1-2 seeds.”

“You won’t win if you don’t focus on your present opponent,” says Midorima.

“And that’s you right now,” says Aomine.

“You know what I mean,” says Midorima.

“Yeah,” says Aomine. “We will. And so we’ll win. And we’ll face off against you, right?”

Midorima smiles. “Right. And then the Celtics will—”

“Lose to the Cavs, right,” says Aomine.

Midorima shoves at him; Aomine doesn’t let go.

“We’ll see who wins tonight,” says Midorima.

Aomine grins. “You can have the scoring title, but we’ll win tonight.”

“I never said anything about the scoring title,” says Midorima. “But I can win both.”

(He doesn’t even really want another scoring title; he knows how much he can score already—it’s just a reiteration of a fact; a championship is much better, much more rewarding.)

“Yeah, I know you can,” says Aomine. “But I’m not just going to let you.”

They stop in front of the window; the rain outside has slowed a little; there’s still fog rolling over the taller buildings in the distance, a mix of grey and white and transparent. Aomine’s arm falls to Midorima’s waist.

“I’ll earn it,” says Midorima (and if he has to go through Aomine, he will—but he wouldn’t have it any other way).

**Author's Note:**

> the harvard crest has the latin motto on it, which is 'veritas' so....'in vino veritas' is the shitty joke there 
> 
> midorima took that shot glass out on the bench to him at the actual game tho. aomine definitely noticed too.


End file.
